Deadly Silence

by OMJ Ryan

  Sitting alone, he was finishing his vegetable curry and rice when Brown appeared looking like a man at the airport, late for his plane.

  ‘There you are, Entwistle. You need to come with me right away. We’ve got a match on Logan’s DNA to that cigarette we found.’

  ‘Right, sir.’ He pushed his plate aside and followed Brown out of the canteen. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Following a tactical unit to Logan’s hostel in Cheetham Hill,’ Brown replied over his shoulder.

  ‘Shall I call Jones and Bovalino and ask them to meet us there?’

  ‘No, sonny. This one’s on us. The new broom showing the old guard how it’s done. I don’t want them involved. Are we clear on that?’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said Entwistle without feeling, as Brown burst through the door to the car park like a gunslinger in a Western.

  The drive from Ashton House to Cheetham Hill normally took twenty minutes, but under blue lights they made it in half the time. When they arrived, they pulled up next to the armed response unit, alongside dogs with their handlers, plus a couple of uniform teams. Having compiled a sizeable dossier on Logan, Entwistle couldn’t help but feel it was all a bit unnecessary. The Logan he’d researched in such detail was anything but dangerous.

  Brown barked out his orders with the confidence of a man about to apprehend the UK’s highest-profile serial-killer since the Yorkshire Ripper, and the tactical team made their move. Surprisingly, Brown waited outside. ‘No sense getting in the way, sonny,’ he said when Entwistle asked him if he would be leading the team in. That’s a first.

  In less than three minutes, Brown was given the all-clear from the tactical unit and headed inside. Entwistle followed closely behind. As they approached Logan’s room, the demonstration of manpower became even more apparent. Burly men in stab vests and helmets, and carrying automatic weapons, cluttered the small corridor that housed Logan’s tiny room.

  With Logan now safely secured in handcuffs, Brown wasted no time in inserting himself into the picture, talking loudly but, somehow, managing to say nothing worthwhile. As Entwistle stepped in next, he couldn’t believe this tiny space was where Logan called home. Even harder to comprehend, in his mind, was that the criminal mastermind who had ritualistically murdered four victims using sophisticated chemical sedatives was the same man who sat on the end of the bed in a dirty old Manchester United football top and black tracksuit bottoms. His eyes were like saucers, and a repetitive moaning sound came from the back of his throat.

  Entwistle took a closer look. ‘He’s as high as a kite, sir.’

  ‘Well, let’s get him back to the station and sober him up, sonny.’

  Kneeling in front of Logan, Entwistle lifted the man’s drooping chin. Drool fell from the corner of his mouth and his eyes had begun to roll so intensely, they appeared totally white.

  Entwistle checked his pulse. ‘Sir, his heart rate is dangerously high.’

  ‘A side-effect of the drugs, no doubt.’

  Logan’s body began to shake, slowly at first but quickly building.

  ‘Seriously, sir, I think he’s about to start fitting. We need to get an ambulance right away.’

  Brown appeared to care less. He pulled on latex gloves. ‘Nonsense. One of the first-aiders can see to him at Ashton House.’

  ‘Sir,’ Entwistle inserted as much authority into his tone as he could. ‘I’ve seen this before when I was in Leeds. It looks like he’s taken Spice. If we don’t do something fast, his heart will literally explode before we can even get to Ashton House.’

  The seriousness of the situation finally dawned on Brown, and a look of panic flashed across his face. His prime suspect risked dying before he could take the credit for convicting him. ‘Call the paramedics now. Get this man some help!’

  It took the paramedics almost an hour to stabilise Logan in the ambulance. In the meantime, Brown enlisted Entwistle’s help to go through Logan’s room. It hadn’t taken long to find what Brown was looking for: cigarette stubs that matched the one found at Phillips’s house, a pair of latex gloves and a surgeon’s mask, all neatly boxed under his bed.

  ‘We’ve got the bastard!’ Brown held the box triumphantly in one hand and slapped Entwistle on the back with the other. ‘Well done, sonny. This is going look great on your CV.’

  Entwistle forced a smile. Great on Brown’s diversity stats, more like.

  A uniformed officer entered the room. ‘Sir, they’re ready to take him to A&E now.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ Brown was clearly enjoying himself as he turned to Entwistle, looking like the hero of the day. ‘Right, sonny. I’ll finish up here with forensics. You go with Logan to the hospital. He speaks to nobody but you.’

  ‘Should I inform Jones and Bovalino now, sir?’

  Brown shook his head firmly. ‘Not at this stage. I’d like a clear run at this myself.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘And I want to know the moment he comes around. You got that?’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  ‘All right, away you go.’ Brown turned back into the room, clasping his hands together enthusiastically.

  Entwistle travelled in silence in the back of the ambulance as the paramedic continued to monitor Logan’s condition. Within ten minutes, they arrived at Manchester Royal Infirmary’s A&E department, situated on the ground floor of the same hospital where Phillips was recovering. The irony was not lost on him.

  In one smooth movement, Logan was whisked into the emergency intake area, where the paramedics officially handed him over to the medical staff. Thirty minutes later, when he was safely in the hands of a full medical crew and undergoing myriad tests, Entwistle took a moment to step outside and catch his breath. It had been an uncomfortable few hours.

  Stood in the bitterly cold night air, he contemplated calling Jones, but knew it would be career suicide to go against Brown’s orders. Still, he also knew that leaving Jones and Bovalino out of the loop would mean he was finished with the team. Pacing up and down, he prayed for clarity. He considered heading upstairs to see Phillips but, having heard Jones and Bovalino’s account of her injuries, thought better of it. He needed to figure this one out on his own.

  Pulling his collar up and stuffing his hands in his pockets to protect him from the bitter wind, he walked out onto Upper Brook Street and looked for inspiration. But it wasn’t forthcoming, and he felt trapped and confused. What was he going do? Whichever decision he chose, he was screwed.

  He came up to an empty bus shelter and took a seat out of the wind, leaning back against the cold glass and closed his eyes, his head swirling.

  Sometime later, he heard a soft Mancunian voice. ‘Are you all right, lovey?’

  He opened his eyes to see that a middle-aged lady had taken the seat next to him. She wore a thick coat and scarf over a navy-blue uniform. ‘You look upset. Have you been in the hospital?’

  ‘Er, yes… Well, kind of.’

  ‘Somebody close to you?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  Her brow furrowed and it felt like she could sense his anguish. ‘You know, it never ceases to amaze me the power of the human spirit. We can find ourselves caring for souls we hardly know.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Entwistle wasn’t sure if she was referring to him or herself.

  She pointed towards the hospital. ‘I’ve been a nurse for over thirty years, and I’ve seen that look on your face a thousand times. Let me tell you, it’ll be ok, because it’s rarely as bad as you think it is. People have a way of pulling through. Just have faith and never give up hope. It’ll all work out right in the end, you’ll see.’

  In that moment, Bov’s words on Entwistle’s first day came into sharp focus: ‘There are coppers who will not rest until they get the right result. You need to decide which kind of copper you want to be.’

  Entwistle jumped to his feet. ‘Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.’

  The lady smiled, appearing a little surprised by his sudd
en change in demeanour. She patted him on the arm and wished him well, then he hurried back in the direction of A&E, pulling out his phone as he walked. He selected the number he wanted and pressed the call button.

  A moment later, it was answered.

  ‘Jonesy, it’s Entwistle… The shit’s hit the fan with Logan.’

  47

  Entwistle followed Jones’s instructions and headed upstairs to Phillips’s room to brief her on the events of the evening so far. Entering her cubicle, he was shocked by the state of her injuries and, for a moment, contemplated turning away. Then she opened one eye and, staring at him questioningly, beckoned him over. Jones had been correct. She wanted to know what was happening with the case.

  Ten minutes later, and fully up to speed, she sat in silence for a long moment, deep in thought. ‘The case against Logan appears compelling: a positive DNA match, latex gloves, a surgeon’s mask – all found in his room. With his record, any jury will find him guilty.’ Phillips’s voice was still gravelly.

  ‘Looks that way, Guv.’

  ‘But I’m still not convinced he’s our guy. The man who attacked me was agile and strong. Logan is off his face most of his waking life. I’m struggling to believe he’s our killer.’

  ‘Could someone be setting him up, Guv?

  ‘Possibly. But who, and why?’

  ‘The real killer?’

  ‘It would make sense, but how the hell did they get Logan’s cigarette butt into my garden?’ Phillips zoned out again, deep in thought.

  Entwistle shifted uncomfortably in his seat after a couple of minutes silence. ‘Guv, are you okay?’

  Phillips turned to him and smiled. ‘Sorry, bad habit when I’m thinking. My mum still goes mad when I stare off into space like that, but I get it from my dad. They used to fall out over it all the time, especially on summer holidays. Dad always claimed he was thinking, but she swore he was ignoring her. Mind you – if you ever met my mother, you’d understand why.’

  ‘That reminds me, Guv.’ He pulled a folded sheet of A4 paper out from inside his jacket pocket and handed it to Phillips.

  She scanned the page. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘The manifest for the St Patrick’s minibus that travelled to Lourdes with Logan, Gillespie, etc. on board.’

  Phillips squinted at it, reading through the detail.

  Entwistle shared his findings. ‘According to Father Maguire, Ricky Murray pulled out of the trip the night before and no-one replaced him, right?’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘Which means there would’ve been six people on this manifest: Father Donnelly, Betty Clarke, Gillespie, McNulty, Matt Logan and Thomas Dempsey.’

  A dawn of realisation appeared on Phillips’s face. ‘Yet, according to this list, seven people travelled.’

  ‘Exactly, Guv. So, either Maguire’s lying or someone else snuck onto that trip without him knowing.’

  Entwistle pulled out his phone, opened his photos, and selected the picture of the Lourdes trip. He handed it to her. ‘Since I came across that manifest, I’ve been staring at this picture non-stop, convinced I’ve been missing something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Then it occurred to me: everyone on that trip is either dead or has been interviewed about the murders, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Except one.’

  Phillips looked puzzled. ‘Who?’

  Entwistle tapped the phone screen. ‘The person taking the photo, Guv.’

  Phillips eyes seemed to double in size for a moment. ‘Entwistle, you’re a bloody genius! Why didn’t I see that?’ Years ago, she would never have missed such an obvious link. Her drinking had clearly taken its toll on her performance as a detective.

  ‘It’s the missing link, Guv,’ the young officer said proudly.

  ‘We find the cameraman, maybe we find the killer.’

  ‘So, what do you wanna do, Guv?’

  Phillips thought a moment. ‘Where’s Brown now?’

  ‘He went home after I told him Logan would remain in hospital overnight for observation. Gave me strict instructions to call him, and only him, as soon as he was ready to be discharged. He wants to meet us at the station to start the interview process. The thing is, Guv, he’s also given me instructions to leave Jones and Bovalino out of the loop.’

  Phillips scoffed. ‘Of course he did. With victory in sight, he doesn’t want to share the limelight.’

  ‘Apart from with his mixed-race protégé.’

  ‘You catch on fast.’ Phillips chuckled. ‘How’s Logan looking by the way?’

  ‘He’ll live. Standard effects of Spice. Elevated heart rate, raised temperature, delirium. Once it leaves his system, he’ll be back to normal.’

  Phillips pulled back the sheets and instructed Entwistle to help her off the bed. ‘I need to pee.’

  A few minutes later, he heard the toilet flush and Phillips re-emerged from the en suite bathroom, her hair now pulled back in a ponytail. She seemed brighter, more alert. ‘Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You go back downstairs and plant yourself next to Logan. Do not leave his side for anything. You need to pee, do it in a bottle. You got that?’

  ‘Yes, Guv.’

  ‘As soon as he’s fit to talk, call Brown first.’

  ‘Guv?’ Entwistle appeared confused.

  ‘It covers your arse. I may choose to take risks but you’re just starting out. No sense making an enemy of Brown so early on. He’ll only turn up in ten years and try his best to fuck your career. Trust me, I have first hand experience of it.’

  ‘Ok, Guv…thanks.’

  ‘After that, you call me. I’m not being discharged until the morning – I’ll come down and talk to Logan before you take him back to Ashton House. If he can help us identify the person taking the photo, I’ll use Jonesy and Bov to help track them down whilst Brown is distracted with the Logan interview.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan, Guv.’

  Phillips sat back down on the bed and grimaced. ‘Yeah. Let’s hope it works out, otherwise an innocent man will go to jail and I’ll be well and truly fucked.’

  48

  Logan lay with his eyes closed in a private room almost identical to the one Phillips had just emerged from upstairs. An armed guard stood to either side of the door as she stepped inside to question him, Entwistle at her side.

  Logan looked gaunt, his skin grey and waxy. His chest was exposed above the waist, revealing his bony frame. His thin, wiry arms were full of needle marks. It was just after 8.00 a.m. and Brown was expecting Logan and Entwistle at Ashton House within the hour. Phillips had no time to waste.

  She moved next to his bed. ‘How are you feeling, Matt?’

  He opened his eyes and turned his head slowly towards her, taking a moment to look her up and down. When he spoke, his voice was a low murmur. ‘I’ve been better.’ He closed his eyes again.

  ‘So how long have you been taking Spice?’

  He took time to answer, his eyes remaining shut. ‘On and off for a couple of years. It’s cheap.’

  ‘Do you remember what happened before you came to hospital, Matt?’

  ‘Not really. I have a hazy memory of lots of coppers in my room, but I can’t tell you if that was real or I dreamt it.’

  Phillips dragged out the chair next to the bed, its metal legs screeching across the polished floor as she took a seat. Entwistle remained standing at the foot of the bed. ‘I’m afraid it was real Matt. Very real, and you’re in a lot of trouble.’

  He made no effort to respond.

  Phillips continued. ‘A cigarette containing your DNA was found in my garden after I was attacked at home two nights ago.’

  Logan opened his eyes wide, a look of shock on his face. ‘My DNA?’

  ‘Yes, and all the evidence points to you attacking me.’

  He shifted his position in the bed, sitting up to attention. ‘Me? Why would I attack you?’

  ‘That’s what I’m here to find out, because the evidence is pretty da
mning. As well as your DNA on the cigarette, officers found latex gloves and a surgeon’s mask hidden in your room.’

  Logan appeared incredulous. ‘That stuff’s not mine!’

  ‘So how do you explain the fact we found it all packed in a box under your bed?’

  ‘Under my bed?’

  Phillips looked across at the rookie. ‘You saw it for yourself last night, didn’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, Guv.’

  Logan’s bloodshot eyes focused on Entwistle. ‘Seriously, I don’t know anything about a box or masks or latex gloves – or any of that stuff.’

  ‘So how did it get into your room?’ said Phillips.

  ‘I have no bloody idea. I swear on my life, I don’t know anything about any box under my bed.’

  ‘What about the cigarette? Bit of a coincidence the same brand was found in the ashtray in your room, isn’t it?’

  ‘What brand? I smoke roll-ups.’

  ‘No, Marlboro Reds.’

  ‘They can’t be mine. I don’t smoke packet fags. They’re too expensive.’

  ‘So how do you explain the fact we found Marlboro Reds in your room?’

  Logan raised his hand to his temple, the saline drip in his hand clattering against the bed frame. ‘Fucking hell, I’m being set up.’

  ‘Come on, Matt, you don’t seriously expect us to believe that fairy story, do you?’

  Logan looked desperate now. ‘The guy that works at the shelter gave them to me. I swear he did.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that convenient?’ said Phillips sarcastically.

  ‘Honestly, you have to believe me. There’s a guy comes in my room sometimes. He offered me some Reds the other night. It was after I’d been locked up. He saw me come back to the hostel and came to say hello. Gave me some of his fags.’

  Just then, a young-looking nurse walked into the room pushing a trolley. ‘Time for one last blood pressure check before you’re released, Mr Logan.’

  Phillips shot Entwistle a look, who took the initiative and asked to speak to the nurse outside. She looked confused but followed him out. Phillips continued her questioning.